Commemorative (despair)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Olivia's expression fell. Sinking deep like a stone trying to get itself lost in a sea of salt water.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** I got inspired and you know that never ends without tears, so-

 **Disclaimer:** adult language, angst, drama, death of a child, tragedy.

 **Commemorative (despair)**

She was shucking peas on the front porch swing, when Daryl came stomping around the corner. Sidling through the gap between the two houses the same moment Olivia and Eric cut across the lawn, arms piled high with the supplies from the pantry.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if we don't find a pasta maker soon that woman is going to drive me absolutely- _whoa!"_

She looked up just in time to watch Eric's stack of boxes tip to port. Wobbling, off balance in his walking cast, as he flinched backwards like a startled deer. Caught off guard when Daryl appeared - seemingly out of nowhere - in front of them.

She wasn't sure exactly how, but Daryl was able to lunge forward and grab the worst of it before it fell. Crossbow slamming audibly against his shoulder blade. The heavy _slosh_ - _slosh_ of olive oil loud despite the distance as Olivia let go of a startled peep beside him.

"Shit, sorry!" Eric exclaimed, puffing a bit as he hopped around on his good leg. Using Olivia as a brace as Daryl jerked his head - flipping a thatch of dark hair out of his eyes. The same hair she was itching to cut even though it'd been years since she'd held a pair of stylist scissors. "I didn't see you. Nice catch, though."

"Don't worry about it," Daryl grunted. Shoulders hunching up, startled, when Olivia beamed at him through a gap between the plastic bags full of flour - already measured out so that everyone got an equal share.

A contented smile curled at the corners of her lips as she watched the moment play out in front of her. Indulgent and genuine as Daryl colored at the attention. Feeling her own amusement crinkling the delicate skin around her eyes as she kicked out with her feet. Enjoying the gentle rock as the hinges creaked back and forth.

Daryl waited until Eric was steady on his feet again before he wedged the top box under the red-head's chin and smacked the side affirmingly. Sending them on their way before looking up through the strings of his fringe, catching her watching. She grinned, knowing she was giving everything away as she looked exaggeratedly between him and Olivia's retreating back. Teasing.

The look she got in return as he started up the steps was clear.

 _Don't_ _you_ _fucking_ _dare_.

She nibbled down on a laugh, but just barely. Keeping it firmly in as he settled down on the bench beside her, easy as anything. Hips slotting together. Close and warm in a way that was comfortable rather than stifling despite the heat of the early afternoon.

"Where have you been?" she asked, leaning into the press of him for a moment. Mostly because she could. Inhaling the faint smells of distressed leather and the usual tang of sweat. She hadn't seen him since the morning, or before morning maybe. It was hard to tell when someone was slipping out of bed in the half-dark – trying not to wake you. Especially when you were indoors. Separate from the sky and all those natural tells she'd gotten used to when they were on the road.

"With Aaron," Daryl grunted, chewing on a hangnail before gesturing off towards the front gate. "Gotta go out on another run soon. See if we can find any baby shit, for Maggie. If-"

"Oh- Hey Daryl? Hold on-" Olivia halted, setting her load down on the ground and waving Eric off to start with his part of the delivery. Jogging back across the street, white blouse fluttering behind her like a miniature parachute. Drawing her attention to the flash of yellow nestled in the grass only a couple meters from where the three of them had nearly collided. "You dropped this."

Olivia leaned over and picked it up the same moment every muscle in Daryl's body went stiff against her. As serious as a heart attack as his face drained its tan and dipped towards a worrisome sallow-grey. Skin flushing fever-hot against hers as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

 _What-_

She paused, keeping her movements slow as she slowly selected a new pea. Focusing on the plump base and the number of peas inside as she traced the bumps through the shell with her thumb. Protecting him with her indifference, like she hadn't noticed anything at all. Like every inch of her _wasn't_ electric with the knowledge that something was desperately wrong. Feeling it on an entirely different level when he sucked in a vicious hiss of air and held it. Unprepared when her relationship with gravity suddenly tilted, angling forward as he staggered up from the swing with an unsteady jerk. Joints popping with the highlights of his better years.

Her eyes darted down to the thing nestled in Olivia's hand.

Recognizing it immediately in that way every parent does.

It was an epi-pen.

It's plastic label threatening to curl with sun-damage.

Worn.

Hidden.

 _She'd never seen it before._

Not once.

So where had it come from?

Why did Daryl have-

"Oh- hey, I didn't know you had an allergy. Shoot! Is it peanuts? And here I've been packing them in your basket every week," Olivia babbled. Looking like she was itching to get back to her clipboard and see if she'd missed something. Turning the epi-pen so she could read the label, mid-sentence. "You should have told me! I never would have- _oh_ \- wait, it's not- oh. _Oh no-"_

Olivia's expression fell. Sinking deep like a stone trying to get itself lost in a sea of salt water.

Daryl snatched it from her hand before the woman could say another word, stuffing it into the inner pocket of his vest. Mouth a hard line across his face. Like a knife slash to the jugular, only a thousand times more grim.

"Leave it," he growled, eyes dark and glinting. Reflecting the light in a way that pulled tight on something achy and full - weeping like recognition - in the center of her chest. Not meeting either of their eyes as he stalked off without another word. Haggard and angry as he grabbed his crossbow and angled off into the shadowed dark between the two houses. "It ain't mine."

The realization that came after was slow to dawn. But when it did, when the backwash of a hundred different moments had wrung her through, trembling and empty, it wasn't until afterwards that she realized she'd crushed the pea to mush in her palm.

* * *

 _"Okay, worst job?"_

 _"I know which job I was the worst at, being a husband."_

 _"That's not a job."_

 _"It sure is."_

 _"You guys just haven't met the right girl."_

 _"Yeah, I tried it three times. I got pink slips every time."_

 _"What were you best at?"_

 _"Being a dad... I think I was best at that."_

\- Dawn of the Dead, 2005.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

 **Reference:** Inspired by Daryl's past scenes with Judith and children in general and the aforementioned conversation in the 2005 remake of "Dawn of the Dead."


End file.
